“What is it, Joe?” cried Rodd.
“Easy, sir!” said the man softly. “Not too loud,” he continued, from where he was seated upon the cross-trees. “I don’t want to give the skipper a false alarm, else he won’t believe me next time.”
“What about?”
“Easy, my lad! Just in a whisper like. I aren’t sure, but to you I says, Land ho!”
“Whereabouts, Joe?” cried Rodd excitedly.
“Ah!” cried Morny, springing up. “Land!” And he faced round to gaze towards the brig that was sailing very slowly after them some three hundred yards away—sailing, but doing little more than forge her way through the water.
“Nay, not that way, sir,” said Joe softly, “but doo east. You can’t see anything from down there, Mr Rodd, sir. I can’t even make certain with the glass.”
“Hold hard, Joe! I am coming up,” cried Rodd. “All right, sir; but you will be disappointed when you do.”
“I won’t be long, Morny,” said Rodd eagerly.
“No; be quick,” whispered Morny excitedly. “I want for my father to know. He is so anxious about the brig.”